The Runaways
by skyflower51
Summary: Two very different Dunmer are on the run. He is a priest; she is a thief. He is running from the crimes of his past; she is running from the memories that haunt her. When a twist of fate brings them to meet, Erandur and Karliah might learn that they have more in common than it seemed. And he may be able to teach her that you should not fear to fight for what you've loved and lost.


**Hey, people! I've decided to take a break from writing my very heavy and exhausting story **_**A Nightingale's Song **_**to write this oneshot that recently strolled into my head after I played the Thieves Guild questline and Waking Nightmare in quick succession. I couldn't help but notice that both these quests contained a Dunmer on the run from their past, and since I love both Karliah and Erandur, I decided I simply had to write a story when they met each other. **_**The Runaways **_**is the result. It's set a few months before the Dragonborn meets Karliah and Erandur, and is the story of what I think would have happened had the two of them met. It's kind of long for a oneshot, but I felt like splitting it up ruined the flow. So anyway, p****lease enjoy! XD**

**I don't own Skyrim, Erandur, Karliah or any of the other characters mentioned, but I do own the story. Also, a massive thank you to Yoyocrazy3, who very kindly made the cover for me.**

**In the wilds of Skyrim, two very different Dunmer are on the run. He is a priest; she is a thief. He is running from the crimes of his past; she is running from the painful memories that haunt her, and the former friends who bay for her blood. When a twist of fate brings them to meet, Erandur, devoted servant of Mara, and Karliah, lost Nightingale of Nocturnal, might learn that they have more in common than it seemed. And he may be able to teach her that you should not be afraid to face your past – nor to fight to reclaim what you have loved and lost.**

* * *

THE RUNAWAYS

The wind howled over the peaks of the white-capped mountains like a wolf on the hunt. Snow swirled through the air in thick white clouds, scattering shimmering flakes over every rock and tree. The sky was darkening with the coming of the night, fading from clear azure blue to deep, mellow indigo. It was bitterly cold, so cold that the rivers were frozen at the edges, so freezing that not a bird dared take to the sky, and not a single rabbit strayed from its burrow. The dazzling aurora glowed in the heavens in fiery streaks of blue and green, shining in the sky like rivers of coloured light.

As the wind whipped through the trees, a wisp of grey cloud slipped away from the silver face of Secunda, bathing the world below in a pale white glow. Huddled upon the frost-coated bough of a pine tree, a white owl watched as the new burst of light revealed a dark figure appearing over the top of a rise, struggling forwards through the swirling snow and biting wind. Bent almost double, the shadowy shape battled on down the winding path. The owl watched until it grew too close for comfort. Spreading its wings, it let out a shrill, shrieking cry and lifted off from the branch, sending a shower of snow onto the mortal's head. It rose up into the falling night on silent wings, bright white against the dark blue of the heavens.

Wiping snow from his hood, the lone wanderer watched it go. His crimson eyes gleamed sorrowfully in the darkness, and a small sigh escaped him. He bent down and opened the worn leather bag he carried slung over one shoulder, rummaging through it with his numb, grey-skinned hands. Within moments, most of his possessions were lying scattered on the ground – a few spare sets of clothing, some bundles of food, a near-empty coin purse, a few potion bottles. Finally, an expression of relief crossed his face as he found what he sought for – a worn and battered scroll of parchment. It took several attempts to untie the thread that held it tightly wrapped, and even longer to unfold it and weigh it down with stones to keep it flat, for he had long since lost all feeling in his fingers. He had owned a pair of gloves until a few weeks ago, when he had given them to an orphaned girl he had met in Whiterun. It had condemned him to many, many miserable hours crouched over the ashes of a fire, desperately trying to stir life back into it with hands that would not obey him. But the child had needed them far more than he had.

His fingertips traced his journey, finally coming to rest not far from a small emblem, a star within a shield. 'Only another day's journey,' the Dark Elf murmured, his strong Morrowind accent clear in the quiet of the evening. 'Mara be praised.'

Rolling up the map and returning it to the bag, along with his other possessions, Erandur straightened up and let out a long sigh. It sometimes seemed as if he had been on the road forever. The soles of his boots were beginning to wear through, his robes were filled with holes and in desperate need of repairing, and he had accumulated a multitude of scars from the numerous bandits, wolves, sabre cats and bears that had attacked him along his way. But he was not going to give up. He had to stay strong; he had to keep going. The people of Dawnstar needed help, and it might well be that he was the only one who could give it to them.

Shouldering his pack once more, the Dunmer continued on his way. He would have to stop for the night before long, but he might as well try to cover a little more distance before he settled down to sleep. It was not until the sky became truly black that he would stop. The longer he kept walking for, the sooner he would arrive.

His gaze travelled upwards, to the splendour of the flowing aurora. For so long now, he had thought of returning to Dawnstar and trying to end their woes. He had never thought of how he might accomplish it. He was certain that he knew the cause of the troubles of the Pale's people. It could only be the Skull of Corruption. How else could Vaermina's influence be spreading itself so quickly and so strongly? Shame washed over him, just as it always did when he thought of his past, and the crimes he had committed in it. So many innocent people dead at his hand. So many cruel acts carried out in the name of the Mistress of Nightmares. And his brothers and sisters, who he had left to die. He had fled like the coward he was, and left them behind to be slain.

The Dunmer closed his eyes and sent silent thanks to Mara. If not for Her benevolence, he dreaded to think what might have become of him. She had shown him a new way, the true way. She had helped him create a new life for himself. Thanks to her, Brother Casimir, devotee of Vaermina, was long since dead. Erandur, priest of Vaermina, was who he was now. Through the Lady Mara's guidance, he would right his wrongs. He went to the aid of Dawnstar now – and once the Skull of Corruption had been banished into Oblivion, where it so rightly belonged, he could set aside all of those painful memories of days gone by. He could truly leave Casimir behind forever. He could put right what he had done, and banish all the guilt he felt for leaving Veren, Thorek and all the others to die. And then maybe, at long, long last, all would be well.

The thought of putting an end to it all brought a smile to the priest's grey-skinned face. He'd been running from the past for too long. Facing up to it once more, and tying up all the loose ends… by the Lady Mara, how long had he dreamed of living a life where he did not have to live with the constant, never-ceasing guilt of what he had done? Soon it would all be over. And he would be free at last.

The owl swept over his head again, screeching its hunting cry. Erandur smiled. He loved the night, with all its wonderful creatures and its shining stars and all the layers of sound. Night-time seemed somehow more peaceful than the day. Tonight was no exception; the quite was broken only by the owl's cry, the whistling wind, his own footsteps in the snow and the distant sound of heavy wingbeats. All was peaceful; all was calm.

Erandur stopped suddenly, his brow furrowing. Again, in his head, he listed the sounds. The owl's call had faded away into the night, the wind had dropped into a low breeze, and his feet made no sound now that he was no longer moving. But still he heard the final sound – the unmistakable sound of wings beating against the air.

The Dark Elf tensed, one hand straying to the handle of the mace that hung at his waist, the other beginning to burn with fire magic. That was not the sound of an owl's wings. Nor was it the sound of any bird's wings. No. As far as he knew, there was only one creature with wings vast enough and powerful enough to make such a noise, and that was the one creature that a man travelling alone most dreaded meeting in the middle of the wilderness, on a cold, freezing night.

His crimson gaze jerked upwards.

And that was when he heard it. The roar. The roar that seemed to split the sky open and make the mountains shake to their foundations. The roar that made his blood run cold and the hair on the back of his neck prickle. The roar that meant it was too late to run, too late to flee, too late to try and hide. The roar that was often the last thing a mortal who listened to it would ever hear.

It could only be a dragon, and even as his mind leaped to that conclusion the creature dropped from the sky.

Erandur had seen them from afar many times, more times than he cared to count, but never before had he seen one up close in this way. He had never wanted to. Which fool would want to go near to a dragon, when it so often meant death? But now, as the creature's claws dug into the earth, and it arched its neck and gazed down at the Dark Elf, Erandur finally understood why those who had seen a dragon up close and lived to tell the tale said that they were astonishing creatures. There was no doubt about it. The beast's scales were brown, but not a dull mud brown. It shone like polished copper, like a thousand stars. It moved with such astounding grace, even on the ground. From the brief view of it in the air that he had managed to glimpse before it landed, Erandur had seen that it was just as awe-inspiring in the sky. What would it be like, he wondered, to soar high and free in the way that the dragons did? And the creature's eyes… the Dunmer suddenly found himself holding the dragon's gaze, and though it burned like fire to look into those dark round eyes, he found it impossible to blink, impossible to look away. They were unmistakably _mortal. _There was none of the mindless rage that the eyes of a wolf or a bear contained. Even Falmer – not that he had seen all that many – did not have the soul in their eyes that this beast did.

The creature opened its mouth, revealing a row of shining, razor-sharp teeth that dripped with saliva. Erandur shrank backwards, waiting for it to lunge forwards, but instead, it spoke, spoke in a voice that sounded like two stones grinding against each other. '_Ru nu, fahliil. Zu'u Nirvenraan. Zu drun dinok.'_

Even without understanding the words, the meaning was clear. Erandur raised his mace, and his fingers curled around the ball of fire crackling in his hand.

'I do not fear you,' he said clearly.

The dragon threw back its head and reared up, spreading its massive wings. _'Mey! _Fool! _Pah faas Nirvenraan! _All fear Nirvenraan! I am _dinok_ to all _joorre_.' Dropping back down, it lowered its head, thumping its tail on the ground. 'If you do not fear me, then let us fight. And when you are _dilon, _I shall feast upon your _slen!'_

It drew back its neck, and sucked in air. Knowing instinctively what was coming, Erandur dropped to the ground and rolled aside – not a second too soon. The beast's roar shattered the air. '_YOL TOOR SHUL!'_

Fire. Fire consumed the entire world, or so it seemed to Erandur, as he watched it lance through the air and strike the tree directly behind the place where he had been standing only an instant before. The pine went up in flames within a second, and Erandur knew that had he not moved, he would have joined it. Pulling himself to his feet, lashed out with his mace, and felt it strike the hard brown scales. The dragon let out a snarl, flinching away from the blow, but not a drop of blood came from it. It licked its lips, as if savouring the pain. 'It seems you have much _zii, _and the heart of a _kendov. _That shall make this battle all the more _morokei.'_

The vast wings opened, swiping down through the air. Had Erandur not grasped at the nearest tree to steady himself, the rush of wind would have knocked him clean off his feet. The dragon laboured up into the air with a thunderous bellow, and the Dunmer knew that it was preparing itself to attack from above. There was no shelter here, no way to escape. Just as the dragon had said, he had no choice but to fight. Terror burned within him – he knew he could not hope to defeat a dragon single handed. How could he possible survive this? And if he did not, who would go to the aid of the people of Dawnstar?

The thought made determination course through him, and he gritted his teeth. He could not allow himself to be slain by this monster. He had a quest to accomplish, and nothing was going to stand in his way. As the dragon halted in mid-air, hovering, readying itself to strike, Erandur stepped away from the trees, into the openness of the road. 'By the Lady Mara's benevolence, you shall not stop me!' he roared.

He released his spell, sending a jet of fire burning into the dragon's underbelly. The beast howled with agony as the flames licked at its scales. _'Bein lah!' _it screeched furiously. '_Yol _is for _dov! FO KRAH DIIN!'_

This time it was a river of frost that shot towards the Dark Elf, and Erandur threw himself to the side. Despite the speed of his movement, the ice narrowly managed to catch his leg, and the priest found himself gasping at the sheer coldness of it. It was a thousand times worse than having numb hands – it was as if his very flesh and every last drop of his blood had been turned to ice. The sensation was enough to make him stumble as he tried to step forwards, and as the dragon landed, making the ground shake, he found himself unable to keep his feet. He crashed awkwardly into the snow.

He waited for the feeling of the dragon's jaws biting down into his flesh and the inevitable agony that would come with it, but instead the dragon snorted out air through its nose, sending up a cloud of smoke. 'On your feet, _fahliil,' _it growled, its voice low and menacing.

'What?' Erandur gasped, too bewildered to come up with anything more meaningful.

The dragon's claws raked at the earth. '_Alok! _Arise! This was no real battle. Come and fight me truly! There is no pleasure in a _grah _that quickly ends. I, Nirvenraan, shall not see you dead until I have been given the honour of a real fight with you, _joor!'_

Erandur's ruby eyes narrowed. So, the beast had decided to spare him this once? It would soon come to regret that decision. He would make it regret it.

The Dunmer pushed himself to his feet. 'I know I will defeat you,' he told the monster, his heart pounding with his chest. 'I fight alongside the Lady Mara. You shall not conquer me.'

The dragon – Nirvenraan – let out a roar that made the entire world seem to shrink away in fear. 'We shall see!' it bellowed. 'Let us _krif _now, mortal – claw to _dwiin, joor _to _dovah!'_

Almost the second he had finished the sentence, the beast lunged. Erandur dodged the vicious jaws by a hair's breadth. The deadly teeth snapped shut on empty air. Seeing an opportunity, the elf raised his mace high above his head before bringing it crashing down. Had he been fighting a wolf or a frostbite spider, it would have been a blow to end the battle, but the dragon jerked his head to the side and the weapon glanced uselessly off his horns. Roaring again, Nirvenraan took to the skies a second time, sending a gout of fire after Erandur that the priest only just managed to avoid. Lifting his hand and taking careful aim, he launched a fireball at the dragon's neck as it soared by. It was a near-perfect shot, striking the vast creature where its long neck joined its armoured chest. Flames exploded around the beast, searing the thin skin of his wings. Twisting in mid-air, the dragon crashed to the ground again. 'So, this is to be a real fight!' it called, looking almost delighted. 'It feeds the fires of my heart to do battle with a _joor _who stays to fight instead of fleeing in _maar _like a frightened _sunvaar.'_

Erandur's response was to loose another firebolt, this time striking the monster between the eyes. Nirvenraan screeched with rage and drew in a long, deep breath. '_FO KRAH DIIN!'_

With no time to avoid the jet of ice, Erandur changed spells with speed that would have made an aspiring member of the College of Winterhold jealous. Concentrating with all his might, he managed to conjure a ward between himself and the wall of frost. For a few, heart-stopping moments, he feared that some of the dragon's icy breath might penetrate the flickering, translucent barrier, but he need not have worried. The white river struck the ward, broke around it, and died.

Nirvenraan let out a long, low snarl as Erandur lowered the ward. 'Foolish, weak _joor,' _he spat, venom dripping from every word. 'You hide behind your magic instead of facing me as a _kendov _should. I spared you so that you might entertain me for longer. But now I grow tired of your games.'

Without warning, he whirled around. Erandur had no opportunity to draw back before the dragon's hefty tail was striking him full in the stomach. Smashed clean off his feet, the Dunmer found himself hurtling through the air. For a few, terrified seconds, he learned the answer his earlier question of what it might be like to fly. And then he was crashing into a snowdrift and lying helplessly on the ground, his sides heaving as he fought for breath, his mace knocked from his frozen hands. Desperately, he tried to charge up a fire spell. It flickered in his palm and died.

With a growling sound that almost resembled a chuckle, Nirvenraan stepped up to him, and pinned him down with a wing, his horned head inches away from the Dark Elf's face. '_Hio krif voth ahkrin. _You fight with courage. I have greatly enjoyed this _grah, _this battle. But now it is time for you to meet your _dinok.' _The dragon's mouth twitched upwards in what might have been a smile. 'You die slain by Nirvenraan, _ah do joorre._ Be honoured.'

The cruel jaws opened wide, and Erandur recoiled as a blast of foul air swept towards him. He was dimly aware that this was the last thing he would ever experience in his life – lying on the ground, unable to fight back, breathing in the rotten stench of the dragon's breath. There was nothing left for him but a few, fear-filled seconds, his quest at an end and his entire body screaming with pain.

And so he closed his eyes.

He waited to feel the teeth meet in his flesh. He waited to hear his own cry of pain and despair. He waited for the world to end for him.

Instead, he felt a rush of air as something sped by him, followed by a terrible screaming roar. Suddenly, the dragon's weight was off him. The Dunmer's eyes snapped open, and with astonishment he saw what had saved his life. Blood was flowing fast and freely down the brown-scaled face, and protruding from Nirvenraan's eye, glimmering in the light of the twin moons, was a single jet black arrow.

The dragon was writhing away from Erandur now, clawing at its face, desperately trying to pull the shaft out with the claws on its wing. The priest tried to rise, but found he could not. His impact with the ground seemed to have broken at least one of his ribs, and the agony that came with moving was utterly overwhelming. Shuddering, Erandur raised one hand, and it glowed with golden energy as healing magic began to work through his body. But he dared not risk moving until he was fully healed. And so he was in the perfect position to be an astonished spectator to everything that happened next.

A second arrow shot out of the woodlands without warning, burying itself up to the fletching in Nirvenraan's soft, unprotected throat. As the dragon howled with agony and fury, Erandur's eyes widened as a dark shape, a stranger clad in worn leathers, sprinted out from the shadowy, whispering trees. It was a woman; that was clear instantly from her stature and slender figure, and she was probably an elf, too – maybe even another Dunmer. Swift as a breath of wind, her feet sending up clouds of snow, she darted past Erandur and up to the thrashing dragon. In one hand, she clasped her bow, a sleek and beautiful weapon, black as shadow, engraved with swirling silver patterns. As she neared Nirvenraan, she reached out with her other hand, grasping the beast's horn. With a single, astonishingly athletic leap, she swung herself up onto the back of its head. Balancing almost like a dancer, she whipped an arrow from her quiver and nocked it to her bowstring with a deft, fluid movement. As Erandur watched in speechless amazement, she drew back the shaft until the black feathers were brushing against the side of the hood that covered most of her face. For a moment, she stood frozen between the dragon's horns; then she released the arrow, and it snapped forwards through the air, punching through the thick brown scales and burying itself in Nirvenraan's head.

The dragon screeched. It was a long, drawn-out sound that made Erandur tremble from the pure terror and rage concealed within it. Nirvenraan reared up suddenly, lifting his entire upper body off the ground. The stranger uttered a desperate cry as she was abruptly dislodged from her perch on his head. She was flung backwards through the air in much the same way that Erandur had been only a minute earlier. Before the priest could rise to help her, she hit the ground. Her head smacked into the unyielding side of a pine tree. She crumpled upon impact, and did not move.

'_Tahrodiis joor meyye! Zu nis dir! Zu nis oblaan! __Zu nis fos viik, zu nis fos krii!' _Nirvenraan shrieked the outlandish words to the sky. 'I cannot die! I am Nirvenraan, hunter of mortals! _I will not be defeated!'_

For a few seconds, he stayed there, wings spread, blood pouring down his face. Then suddenly the strength seemed to be wiped from his body, and he was slumping onto the snow. White flakes scattered in all directions. The dragon lifted his head, and his single remaining eye stared at Erandur with so much malice and fury that the Dunmer could not stop himself from trembling. And then that eye was misted and glazed over, and the creature's final breath was fading away into the quiet of the night.

Erandur scrambled to his feet, gasping.

The stranger lay still on the scarlet-stained snow.

* * *

Karliah was more than used to pain.

It was something she lived with now, something she carried with her constantly, every minute of every hour of every day. Pain was one of her only companions, along with fear and sorrow. It was always there, in so many different forms. The ache in her limbs from days of endless travelling, the ice-cold numbness in her stiff fingers, the all-consuming hunger that was inevitable after so many years of not getting enough to eat, the burning agony from the countless wounds she had acquired from her encounters with bandits and predators.

But those pains were simple. They were pains that could be banished easily. A few hours of rest, a warm fire, a solid meal, a carefully brewed potion – that was all it took to make them leave her, if only for a time. No, the fiercest, strongest and worst of them all was the pain that nothing could ever cure. That was the emptiness within her that had existed since the day of the Betrayal, as she had come to call it. It was the great yawning void that she knew would never be filled. Something within her had died the day that _he _died, and there would never be any bringing it back to life.

Over time, the rawness of that knowledge had faded. For the first few years, it had tormented her constantly, as if there were a dagger plunged into her heart. She had never been able to stop thinking about it. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his face in her mind. But slowly, gradually, she had begun to block out those agonising memories. Not that she mourned for him any the less. But it was so much easier to simply not think about all that had happened. Concentrating on the present helped. As time went by, the bitter torment had faded into a dull ache inside her. Sometimes, she could almost forget about all that she had left behind. But as the grief and anger drained from her, nothing replaced it. Building up walls against her emotions had left a terrible hollowness within her heart. And that feeling of bleak desolation was the worst pain of them all.

Every so often, though, there would be exceptional times when physical pain could drown out the emotional pain. They were rare moments. The time that she took a bandit's arrow in the side as she tried to flee. The time that a bear's claws had ripped open her arm as she buried her dagger within its throat. The time that she had missed her footing as she tried to scale a cliff face, and had been sent tumbling down the rocks, smashed carelessly against the stones and left to lie limply at the bottom of the cliff like a broken toy, her breath coming in rasping gasps. All of those times, just for a few brief, terrible moments, all the heartsickness had vanished from her. Every memory of the Betrayal, of the friends she had left behind and who were hunting her down without mercy, of that beloved face that was the only reason she was still fighting – they all were destroyed, as quickly as the changing of the wind. All that was left for her to focus on was the pain in her body. And this was one of those times.

As her consciousness slowly returned, so she dimly began to dredge up the memories of what had happened. Her mind began to piece everything together. She recalled the dragon, its brown scales slick with blood from the wounds her arrows had dealt it, screeching so loudly that her sensitive ears had felt as if they would explode. She remembered being flung from its head as it reared up in its death throes. And there had followed a sudden, blinding agony as her head had struck something hard and solid… but after that, she could remember nothing more.

Her head was pounding as if some insane bard were playing a drum inside it. There was a ringing sound in her ears, and when she tried to open her eyes, the entire world span around her, and she quickly closed them again with a soft moan.

'Lie still, my daughter.' The words were spoken quietly, but they smashed through her skull as loudly as the dragon's roar. 'The beast is dead. You are safe.'

_Safe? _Had she not long since lost the ability to be amused by anything, Karliah might have laughed. She was not safe. She had not been safe for twenty five years. And then a bolt of alarm shot through her, and her eyes snapped open. Who had spoken those words? There was something strange about what had been said. For a few seconds, she struggled to work out what it was, and then it came to her. They had spoken in Dunmeris. In her own tongue. Nocturnal's mercy, how long had it been since she had heard anyone speak in Dunmeris? _He _had spoken it as fluently as he spoke the common language, but then, he had always been a scholar, and he had only ever used it when he had something to say to her that he did not want anyone else to understand…

Forcing herself out of the past and into the present, Karliah tried to make sense of the scene around her. There was a grey haze in front of her eyes, but it was gradually melting away. Bit by painful bit, the world swam into focus. She seemed to be in a tent, a ramshackle construction made from sewn-together hide. Her head had been bandaged with strips of cloth. And leaning over her was a stranger who she vaguely recognised – a Dunmer like herself, a kinsman, whose simple yellow-brown robes were streaked with blood, and whose crimson eyes shone with warmth and kindness.

Instantly, everything she had been unable to recall came flooding unstoppably back to her. In her mind's eye, she saw it all again. She saw herself struggling through the woods, sinking into the snow with every stride, seeking a place to make camp for the night. She remembered hearing the all-too-familiar roar splitting the air. Once again, she watched from her hiding place in the cover of the trees as the dragon screeched its challenge. And though she had been too far away to see who it was threatening, she had known that some innocent mortal was about to fall victim to its rage.

She had known that it would be reckless to try and stop it from happening, known that to attempt to interfere was the worst thing she could possibly have done. For twenty five years she had deliberately stayed away from other people, avoiding them at all costs, knowing that the man who hunted her had eyes everywhere, that any stranger she encountered on the road might betray her to him. But as she hardened her heart and turned away, ready to seize the opportunity to escape while she was undetected by the monster, a sudden thought had struck her, a thought that had made her freeze mid-stride. Was this really what the years of exile had done to her? Had she become so far removed from the rest of the world, so distant from her own emotions, that she was willing to let another mortal die without lifting a finger to help them?

For a few, agonising seconds, she had stayed there, her head and her heart battling for dominance. And then, finally, the question had entered her mind that had made the decision for her. _What would Gallus want me to do?_

It had required no thought. She had known him better than anyone; she knew what he would have hoped she would do, and what he would have done in her place. And as she pictured his face in her mind, shame like nothing else she had ever experienced before washed over her. How could she betray him by forgetting the morals he had valued so much? He would never have let an innocent die while he sat back and did nothing to stop it. Even if it meant his death, he would have fought.

And so she had snatched up her bow and began to sprint through the trees towards the sounds of the battle. As branches whipped against her face and snow went flying beneath her feet, she could almost see him running alongside her, just as he had so many times before, his deep brown eyes shining with excitement and eagerness, just as they always had done, for he had not only been a master thief and a wise scholar but a fearsome warrior –

And then she was emerging onto the road, and she was snapping back into reality. Her arms carried out the movement they knew so well almost of their own accord, sending her first arrow into the dragon's eye, the second into its throat, for she had learned from bitter experience that these were the only places where the beast was vulnerable. And then, as the dragon lowered its head, she used one of the few reliable tactics she had taught herself for slaying the creatures. She remembered leaping onto its head, firing an arrow through its skull… and then she had been thrown to the ground, and the rest was nothing but blackness.

She swallowed, and the simple action sent lightning bolts of pain shooting through her body. It now seemed that the other Dark Elf, the dragpn's intended victim, had come to her aid. Inwardly, she cursed her ill fortune, though she knew there was no going back now. For better or for worse, she had interfered against all her judgement. Now she would simply have to face the consequences. The man seemed to be some kind of priest – Karliah very much doubted that he was in any way affiliated with the Thieves Guild. The chances that he might be in Mercer's pocket – Gods, she hated even _thinking _that name – were minimal.

Still. If he showed even the slightest sign of being a danger… she would have only two options. Firstly, (and this was the option she much preferred) she could run. She had been running for so long that running a little more would make no difference. She could run so far that by the time he managed to inform the Guild of her location, she would be long gone. And secondly, (and even though it made her shudder to think of it, she knew that this would be the safer choice) she could kill him.

The moment the thought crossed her mind, she was disgusted at herself. This elf had taken her to shelter and tended to her wounds. Why would he do that if he intended to betray her? When had she become so apprehensive, so reluctant to trust? How had she changed so much since the day of the Betrayal?

She knew how. Her heart had been broken by Gallus's death, and her soul. There was very little left of her anymore.

'I'm much obliged to you for saving me from that beast.' The corner of the priest's mouth twitched in a small smile. 'I hope your injuries aren't paining you too badly.'

Karliah hesitantly opened her mouth. She could not remember the last time she had spoken to another mortal. Divines above, she felt almost as if she had forgotten _how _to speak. But she had to make some reply, and so she forced out the words. 'Not too badly,' she told the stranger softly, and her voice seemed to stick in the back of her throat as if it resented being used. 'Thanks to you.'

He dipped his head to her briefly. 'As a sworn priest of Mara, it's my duty to care for my fellow mortals,' he announced. 'Your head wound's patched up nicely, but I'm afraid you landed rather heavily. You're going to have a few scars.'

That didn't trouble Karliah. 'No matter,' she replied quietly. She had accumulated a large number of scars over the years, and a couple more would make no difference. She had several on her arm, only recently starting to fade, where the bear had clawed her. There was another on her chest, a jagged and angry white line from where she had taken a Falmer's sword through the chest many, many years ago. And then there was the long, thin one that sliced across her left shoulder – the one that had been made when Mercer threw his dagger at her in Snow Veil Sanctum that terrible, terrible night, as she stared, frozen and numb with shock, unable to believe what she had just witnessed…

'I'm Erandur, by the way.' Her fellow Dunmer's voice jolted her out of her thoughts. She looked up at him, and she had a distinct feeling that her surprise was showing on her face. Her name… she kept it so deeply hidden within herself. It was the last thing she would ever tell a stranger. And here was this man, who she had only just met, looking her in the eye and telling her his own. It seemed to strange to her, the notion that other mortals could be so ready to give away their identities, after she had become so use to constantly hiding. But then, she thought, he had clearly never been through anything like what she had experienced.

She suddenly became aware that he was looking at her expectantly, and she had to grimace. He knew that he would want her to tell him her name now – and truth to be told, she did want to tell him. She was almost certain that this man could be trusted. Back when she had lived with the Guild, she had been taught how to judge a person. It was a vital skill for a thief to know. And though there was a certain something in his eyes – a strange heaviness, as if there were something he was hiding away, just out of sight – there was also an open, honest feeling about him. No, she did not think that he was a spy for the Guild, nor that he had ever heard the accursed name of Mercer Frey. But she could not risk him knowing her name. It was too dangerous, far too dangerous. She had to stay out of sight of the gaze of the world if she were going to survive. _Divines curse my eyes! _she thought bitterly. Back when she was younger, she had revelled in the knowledge that she was so different, that her unique indigo eyes set her apart from every other Dunmer who had ever lived. And had Gallus not once told her that it was her eyes he had fallen in love with first? But now they were nothing but a constant irritation. That one little quirk about her appearance made her stand out, and standing out was something she simply could not afford. She knew that the Guild would have put out the word that they were hunting for a Dunmer woman with deep purple eyes, and as far as she knew, she was the only one. It made her so much more vulnerable. Still, if the priest –Erandur, she reminded herself – had noticed it, he had not mentioned it.

Realising she still had not given a response to him, she hesitated for a moment before warily replying. 'I would tell you my name,' she said, her voice low. 'If I were not worried about endangering my life.'

Confusion crossed his face. 'Endangering your life, sister?' he repeated, sounding bewildered. 'In what way?'

Seeing as her head was no longer throbbing as painfully as it had been, Karliah pushed herself up into a sitting position and gingerly unwound the bandages from around her forehead as she considered how to reply. The strips of cloth were stained with dark blood, but when she tentatively pressed her fingers to the place that they had covered, they came away dry. Clearly, he had used healing magic. She drew in a long breath before answering his question. 'There are people who would very much like to see me dead,' she explained slowly. 'Indeed, the more painfully I died, the happier they would be. I cannot risk the slightest chance that they ever discover my location, or even that I am still alive.' She paused, and as she did so a second, far more important reason for keeping her identity struck her, and she was instantly furious with herself for not thinking of it before. 'What's more, were they ever to find that you had sheltered me – and healed me when I was injured, no less – they would think little of killing you as well. I do not want any more innocent blood to be shed in my name.'

The word _more _slipped out without her bidding, and her blood ran cold in her veins. Gods, how she wished she had not said that now. He might well think, if innocent blood had been shed in her name before, that would make her a murderer. And there were already far too many people who thought she was a killer.

And in a way, she told herself numbly, she was. If she had just been quicker and wiser, she could have prevented what had happened…

Erandur looked at her for a long, long moment, before nodding slowly. 'Very well,' he said, and she could not tell from the two short words what he was thinking. Anything could have been going on in his mind, and she would not have known. 'You should get some rest, kinswoman. Your injuries shall heal faster that way.'

'I don't think I should stay here too long.' Karliah had not anticipated how comforting it would be to speak to another mortal again, even if it was about such a painful subject. She could not risk staying for too long. She had spent twenty five years trying to build up barriers against the rest of the world, and allowing this man to smash them down might be fatal. 'Thank you for your help. But I can take care of myself.'

The priest glanced outside the tent. 'I don't doubt it, my daughter. But for your sake, I most certainly wouldn't advise leaving whilst it is raining so heavily.'

Surprised, Karliah glanced outside, and saw that he was speaking the truth. Her heart sank; it was true that it would be better for her to remain here until the weather improved, but the longer she stayed, the longer she was putting both of them in danger for.

The archer made her decision – or rather, her aching head made the decision for her. She lay down again, staring at the wall of the tent without really seeing it. 'I'll leave when the rain stops,' she said quietly.

Erandur nodded slowly. 'As you wish, my friend.'

Karliah's indigo eyes widened, and she felt her heart clench. Friend. It almost hurt to be called that. She had not had a friend for twenty five years.

The former Nightingale closed her eyes. There was no point in dwelling on it. Come the morning, the sun would be shining again and it would be time for her to leave. She doubted that she and this man would meet a second time.

Karliah let out a small sigh, and let the sound of the rain drumming on the roof of the tent lull her into a restless, uneasy sleep.

* * *

Erandur sat hunched against the wall of the tent, watching his kinswoman sleep with curious, thoughtful eyes.

She intrigued him. There was no denying it. From the moment he had first seen her as she leaped onto the head of the dragon, a million questions had arisen in his mind. As he had carried her limp, unconscious body away from the unmoving carcass of the dragon Nirvenraan, as he had pitched his tent and pulled her into its shelter, as he had patched up her wounds with the strongest healing magic he knew, all he had been able to think of was more and more questions about the mysterious Dark Elf woman who had saved his life. Who was she? Where had she come from? Why had she risked her own life to save him, a stranger? Where had she become so skilled with the bow? How had she worked out such a deadly tactic for slaying dragons? Why was she in the wilderness alone? No matter how hard he tried to answer them, he found that he could not.

If she had confused him even whilst she was out cold, his curiosity had only increased once her eyes had opened. Even before she had spoken, he had been taken aback. He knew of the Curse of Azura; every Dunmer infant learned of the tale. In punishment for their murder of Indoril Nerevar, and for their scorning of the Daedra, the entire Chimer race had been cursed for all eternity, along with each and every one of their descendants. Their skin had been turned as grey as ash, their eyes crimson as the fires of Red Mountain, and so they had become the Dunmer. No Dark Elf in history, as far as he knew, had ever resisted that curse. But here, right in front of him, was one who did. For though her skin was indeed the bluish grey of all their kind, her eyes were most certainly not red. They were the deep, mellow indigo of the sky at twilight and – Erandur had to admit it – really quite incredible.

He had briefly considered the notion that she might be a half-blood. But he had quickly turned that theory down. It simply would not make any sense. To be sure, mortals of mixed race inherited the features of their mother along with a few from their father, but if those unusual eyes came from a different race, what was it? Erandur had never encountered anyone with them before. No, there had to be some other reason – but what that reason was, he simply could not say.

He had felt it would be impolite to mention the strange feature in her appearance, though, so he had said nothing about it, and had instead introduced himself to her. And that was when he had begun to realise just how much of a mystery this woman was. There was such a heartbreaking expression in those indigo eyes… as if she bore the troubles of the world on her shoulders. He knew, knew just from looking at her and listening to the weariness and sorrow conveyed in her voice, that she had seen too much. Seen things that no mortal should ever have to see. He could not guess what, but he knew that he was right. As a priest, he needed to have a natural affinity with people. Over time, he had learned to tell what they were thinking. And though the woman seemed to be shutting out the rest of the world, hiding herself behind vast and seemingly impenetrable barriers, what he could see of her was nothing but grief and anger and fear. The grief came from her in waves, so much so that he could almost taste it. The bleak, worn way that she spoke… it was as if she didn't care what became of her. The anger had only sparked in her eyes a few times, and he was not quite certain what to make of it. Was it directed at someone else, or at herself?

And as for the fear… Erandur did not think that he would ever be able to forget the look that had come over the stranger's face when he had told her his name, and waited for her to reply. It was a look he had seen many, many times before, but never on the face of a fellow mortal. It was the look he had seen on the faces of grazing elk that had jerked their heads up in surprise when they saw him coming, before bounding away in a panic, sending up a spray of leaves. He had seen it on birds as they crouched down, tensed and poised, as he approached, seconds before they madly flapped their wings and fled into the sky, screeching their alarm calls as they went. He had seen it on rabbits that had looked at him for only long enough to ascertain that he was bigger and stronger than they were, before scarpering for cover and vanishing noiselessly into their burrows. It was an expression he had only ever seen on prey. On animals that were used to being hunted, that knew nothing _but _being hunted. On creatures that lived their entire lives in the knowledge that the moment they lowered their guard, the moment they let themselves become vulnerable, they would be killed. These were creatures whose lives revolved around nothing but survival. They lived in constant fear. Looking at the woman, Erandur realised something that made his heart twist. This was what it was to be prey.

But how, how in the name of all the Divines, had a mortal being been given the mind-set of a hunted animal? It was unnatural. And how could someone who was afraid to tell him something so simply as her name show absolutely no trace of fear when it came to battling a raging dragon? This stranger was really turning out to be something of a walking book of contradictions.

And yet, despite the fact that she seemed determined not to open up to him, Erandur could not help but feel desperately sorry for her. If what she had said was true, if there were people looking to see her dead, how could he not pity her? He couldn't help but wonder why anyone would want to kill her. He knew so little about her – in fact, he knew nothing apart from the fact that she was a master archer and was on the run from something – but he did not see any reason why she might be wanted dead. There did not seem to be anything about her to inspire such hatred. But then, there was no telling what she was hiding.

One thing was for sure, Erandur thought grimly, and that was that he wished she were not so determined to leave. He stole a quick glance outside. The rain was still as strong as ever. But the woman had made it clear she intended to leave when it finally stopped. He did not want her to go so quickly, and it was only partly because he was worried about her injuries. From the way that she carried a small satchel filled with potions and alchemical ingredients, she seemed to be skilled in the craft of potion making. Alchemists could care for their own wounds. No, he did want her to leave because he had a deep feeling that she desperately needed help. Whatever had led her to become so haunted-looking, so anxious and tense, he felt as if he had a duty to give her whatever aid he could. He was a priest of Mara; the very purpose of his life was to care for others. If there was any help he could give to her, then he would give it.

And he had to admit it to himself. He did not want her to leave before he knew more about her. Everything about her intrigued him.

He glanced at her, and had to frown. She even slept like a prey animal – lightly and tensed, as if at the slightest sound, the tiniest movement, the smallest disturbance, she would jolt awake and be ready to run for her life. How in the name of Mara could someone become like this? He wanted to do what he could for her. Since the day when Lady Mara accepted him as one of her own, he had made it his duty to shed light on darkened lives. Well, here was a darkened life if ever he had seen one – and yet he could not help his kinswoman until he knew what troubled her. It was enough to drive him mad.

Erandur let out a long sigh. The night was growing darker still now. He badly needed sleep, but while the mysterious woman was with him, he would stay awake for her sake. There was no telling if she might need his help.

For what seemed like an eternity but could not have been longer than an hour, Erandur leaned against the wall of the tent and wondered. And wondered. And wondered.

It must have been close to midnight when he saw the stranger stirring.

It was a tiny movement that suddenly drew his eye, so small that he might have missed it had he blinked. She suddenly tensed, every muscle in her body going rigid, and she gave a small, sharp gasp. The priest swallowed hard. Whatever dreams his fellow Dunmer was having, they were not at all pleasant.

Steadily it grew worse. She never moved, nor did she utter a sound, but there was such an expression of utter torment on her face that Erandur knew instinctively that she was plagued by nightmares. Immediately, he wondered whether she might have fallen under the terrible effects of the Skull of Corruption. But no. They were still a day's journey away from Dawnstar, outside the Skull's influence. It was a natural nightmare, and not one that he would have liked to suffer himself. It pained him to see a fellow mortal in such pain, and Erandur found himself wondering whether it would be kinder to wake her up. He was still considering it when, without warning, the woman jerked awake, her eyes snapping open, a terrible, agonised, desperate cry ripping from her mouth. _'Gallus!'_

The single word, the name of some unknown person, crashed though the silent night like the sound of a dragon's roar. Never before had Erandur heard so much pain and fear and grief and despair in a single word. He was on his feet in a second. 'Sister – ' he began, but did not finish the sentence, for what was there to say?

The woman lay still, her hands clenched into fists, her face pale, her sides heaving as she fought for air. The panicked expression of terror slowly faded from her face, to be replaced with a look of desolation like nothing Erandur had ever seen before.

'Sister,' Erandur said again, his voice gentle, kneeling beside her and laying a hand on her shoulder. 'Please. You have nothing to fear. All is well.'

Her head snapped around, and the indigo eyes burned into his, so much raw anger blazing within them that Erandur drew back in alarm. 'All is well?' she repeated, the words spoken in a low hiss. 'No. All is not well. All will never be well. You know nothing about this. Nothing.'

Her voice was choked as if tears were threatening her. Erandur looked at her, at the fear on her features and the tormented look in her eyes, and in that moment he determined that no matter how hard he had to try, he would find out what was brought his fellow Dark Elf to this, and he would do whatever was in his power to help her.

'Please, my friend.' He raised his hands a little as he spoke, as if he were trying to ward off an enraged beast. 'You're right. I don't know anything. So tell me. Then I will know.'

She stared at him with an expression he could not read. There was some hostility, but also weariness, grief, and maybe… was that a touch of gratitude? Perhaps, Erandur thought, she had been secretly hoping that he might ask. Perhaps all she wanted was someone to listen. He knew from years of hearing the troubles of those who had come to him for aid that often, the best thing that can happen when you carry sorrow in your heart is for someone to listen to you instead of turning away. He did not want to pressure her into giving away her secrets. All he wanted was for her to give him a chance to help.

The silence between them wore on and on, and Erandur knew that the stranger was desperately trying to come to a decision. 'I am a sworn priest of Mara,' he told her quietly. 'My duty is to care for other mortals. I give you my word that I shall not breathe a word of whatever you choose to tell me to anyone.'

She continued to gaze at him. Very slowly, the emotions raging behind her eyes faded away, to be replaced with a look of calm acceptance and resignation.

'Maybe you're right,' she said softly. 'Maybe I've been running too long. Running from the Guild. Running from the past. Running from myself.' She dropped her gaze. 'I can't run forever.'

She sat up then, leaning against the wall of the tent and hugging her knees into her chest. Erandur sat down beside her, saying nothing, waiting for her to continue.

When she spoke again, her words were not at all what he had expected. 'Do you recognise my armour, Erandur?'

Blocking out his slight surprise at the fact she had addressed him by name, he tried to focus on answering her question. The dark brown leather she worn looked strong and supple, and had clearly been torn and repaired many, many times. Now he came to think of it, it did look rather familiar. But where he had seen it before, he simply could not say. 'I'm afraid not, my daughter.'

She sighed. 'I wouldn't expect you to.' She stared at the ground for a few moments. 'It was given to me when I joined the Thieves Guild.'

The Thieves Guild… of course. He had never been to Riften himself, though he had often considered going on a pilgramage to the Temple of Mara, so his knowledge of the secretive and shadowy organisation was slight. But once, when he had been preaching in Windhelm, he had seen the town guards thundering down the narrow streets, in pursuit of a hooded figure in dark leathers very like the ones his fellow Dunmer wore. He nodded slowly. 'You're with the Thieves Guild,' he affirmed. There was no accusation in his voice. If she was a thief, then that was her path to choose.

Her jaw clenched. 'No,' she replied, her voice thick with bitterness. 'I was. I was with the Guild. A long time ago.'

There was a brief pause, then before Erandur could speak, she continued. 'I joined the Guild very soon after I came of age,' she told him, her gaze fixed on the ground. 'My mother was a Guild member for many years, as was her father before her. There was never any question about where the path of my life would lead. I was trained in the art of thievery from my very early childhood. I was proud beyond measure when the time came for me to leave home and join them. It was all I had ever wanted for years. I hoped that I would find a family, a home, a purpose.' She swallowed, drew in a deep breath, and let it out again. 'I found all of those things. But I also found Gallus Desidenius.'

Gallus. That was the name she had called out as she awoke. Almost certainly a name belonging to an Imperial. And from the way that she had spoken the name – almost reverently- it appeared that its owner meant a great deal to her.

'Who is he?'

'Was.' The word was almost whispered, and Erandur found himself beginning to understand. If she was referring to him in the past tense, then he was almost certainly dead. And that explained the grief that shone clear and strong in her eyes. 'He was Guildmaster at the time I joined, and had been for some years. Everyone respected him. When he gave an order, it was obeyed instantly. In all the time I knew him, I don't think I ever once found fault with one of his decisions. And he was not just a thief, but a scholar, too,and an utterly fearless warrior. He was the greatest leader the Guild could ever have wished for. And he was the wisest, best and bravest man I have ever known. We worked together for some time, and after a few years we began to realise…' She hesitated. 'We began to realise that our relationship was becoming… rather more than friendship.'

Erandur's insides twisted. The pain in her voice was so clear he could almost feel it himself. He opened his mouth, feeling he had to say something, but she continued before he could.

'I might as well say it.' She closed her eyes. 'I loved him. I loved him more than it is possible for words to say. And he loved me. When we were together, it was as if the rest of the world didn't matter. Anything could happen, the whole world could fall apart, and I could endure it, just so long as he was there for me. We just didn't need anything else, not when we had each other.' Her eyes opened again, and as she looked up at Erandur, he saw that there were tears glistening in them. 'I expect you can understand that.'

Erandur bowed his head. 'I would not have the right to call myself a priest of the lady of love if I did not,' he replied softly.

Her voice was shaking as she continued, as if it were a struggle to choke out the words. 'Gallus once told me that he felt… comfortable… around me. Safe. Like he could let his guard down. A thief never lets their guard down. But he did, because of me. And that's why I feel so responsible for what happened to him.'

He did not want to ask the question, for he suddenly found himself dreading the answer. He had a chilling feeling he already knew what it would be. But he had a feeling that there was no going back now, not for either of them. And so he found his lips moving, and the words leaving his mouth. 'What happened to him?'

She was a long time in answering. The look of barren despair was heavier than ever on her face now.

'No Guildmaster could have led the Guild alone, even one as skilled as Gallus,' she said finally, and though Erandur did not understand, he nodded and listened as she went on. 'They must have someone to help them. A deputy, a second in command. And for Gallus, that was Mercer Frey.'

There was so much raw, furious hatred in the way she said the name that Erandur instantly suspected why she loathed its bearer. He swallowed hard, not trusting himself to speak, waiting for her to carry on.

'Gallus and Mercer had been friends from the day they first met. They rose through the ranks of the Guild together. They were an unbeatable partnership. And after I had been in the Guild for some time, the three of us became something of a team. When we went out on missions, we often went together. Each of us knew how the others fought… and thought. There was a time when I felt that anything that I did not know about Gallus Desidenius and Mercer Frey was not worth knowing.' Her hands curled into tightly clenched fists. 'I was wrong. There was something about Mercer that I didn't know, something that would most certainly have been worth knowing. It would have been worth knowing that he once loved me just as much as Gallus did. Because if Gallus and I had seen that sooner, we might have stopped him. Stopped him from seeing us no longer as friends, but as enemies. He grew to resent Gallus, so much so that he forgot their friendship. And he began to fester at heart, until he had no loyalties left. Not to Gallus, not the the Guild, not to anyone.'

Erandur closed his eyes. He knew what was coming. 'He killed him, didn't he?' he asked, though he was already certain of the answer. 'He murdered Gallus.'

Breathing hard, as if she had run halfway across Skyrim, her eyes not moving away from the ground, she nodded. Her face was blank, but in the shimmering silver and ruby moonlight Erandur could see the tears beginning to streak it. 'He sent Gallus a message, asking him to meet him at Snow Veil Sanctum… an ancient Nordic ruin. Gallus had begun to suspect what Mercer was planning. He knew that if he went, it might well be the last thing he ever did. And yet he went anyway. Because he couldn't forget their friendship, and he wanted to give Mercer a second chance.' She looked up at Erandur suddenly, and the heartbroken look in her eyes made his own grow wet. 'He died because he wanted to let his murderer know that he was forgiven for wanting to kill him.'

The tragedy of it struck Erandur like a physical blow. Her lover had been murdered by a man he had thought of as a friend. And he had willingly walked into the jaws of death, because he had wanted that friendship to last. The priest did not try to stop his tears from coming. How could Mara allow such a strong bond between two mortals to be shattered so painfully, so cruelly? Where was the justice?

'I saw it.' The woman's voice was hoarse and shaking. 'I followed him to the Sanctum in secret, even though he begged me not to. I saw what happened. I saw him fall.' Every word she spoke seemed harder to get out than the last. 'I called his name. And he looked up at me. Right into my eyes. And he shouted…' She let out a muffled, strangled sound that was half scream, half sob. 'Gods, I can still hear him. He gazed into my eyes and he shouted… just one word. _Karliah.'_

Erandur stared at her, momentarily confused. And then his mind made the connection, and everything fell into place.

'Karliah,' he repeated. 'That's your name.'

Her whole body was trembling now, as well as her voice. Her only response was a tiny, almost undetectable, jerk of her head.

Karliah. Her name was Karliah. Quite suddenly, having a name made her more of a person. She was no longer some distant stranger, hiding behind unbreakable walls. She was a mortal like him. She was no longer _the stranger, _or _the woman, _or _his fellow Dunmer. _She was a person. She had a name. She was Karliah.

'Karliah,' he said again, and he quietly slipped his arm around her shoulders, knowing that he could offer her nothing that would mend her shattered heart, yet wanting to ease her pain if it was within his power to do so. 'Karliah, I am sorry. I am truly sorry.'

As a priest of Mara, Erandur was used to listening to the troubles of others. That was what priests of the Divine of Love were for – to listen. To understand. To love. To spread Mara's warmth in any way they could. That was his very purpose in life, and had been since the day he had first taken upon the demanding role. His duty was to put others before himself, and to open up his mind, ears and heart to their grief. Because that was the first step to healing a wound made on someone's soul. All they needed was to feel like someone was there to listen, to feel that they were not ignored. To feel like there was just one person who would not turn their face away and leave them to their own grief.

And so he said nothing, because he knew all that she needed was for him to listen. He did not move, because he knew that all she needed was for him to stay there. He simply closed his eyes and let his tears run down his cheeks, as Karliah buried her face in her hands and wept – wept for herself, for Gallus, for all that she had lost. And Erandur let her cry without trying to stop her, for he knew that the simple fact that he was there was enough. Because he knew that was all she needed.

Someone to care.

* * *

For twenty five years, it had been locked away inside her. Everything. All the anger, all the grief, all the pain, all the despair. She had kept it hidden away in the darkest corners of her mind, because it hurt her so much to think of it even for a second. And she had given up on emotions, too, because they did nothing for her except pain her. And because emotions were what set mortals apart from beasts, she had almost stopped thinking like a mortal…

Karliah had been hiding the truth from him – whether for his protection or for hers she was not sure. But when he had asked her – so gently, so kindly – to tell him about her past, she had found herself wanting to so badly. Perhaps it had been because she had been so shaken by that dark dream. It was the nightmare that came to her almost every night, growing more agonising every time. The one where she watched everything that happened in Snow Veil Sanctum all over again. The one where she heard his final cry tearing through the darkness of the tomb, so desperate, so terrified, begging her to save him. Knowing that she could not. Often, she saw him in such dreams, gazing at her with cold eyes, blaming her for letting it happen. And sometimes she saw him staring at her, his eyes filled with confusion. _'Karliah,' _he would say. _'Why didn't you save me?'_

Or perhaps she had told him not only because of how much the dream had shaken her, but because she knew, knew deep down inside, that he could be trusted. Erandur gave off an aura of warmth – only to be expected in a priest of Mara, perhaps. She had not spoken to another mortal for so, so long, and though she would never have admitted it, she bitterly missed having company. For what seemed like an eternity, her only companions had been rabbits, elk and wolves. And they, of course, would not listen to her even if (for some inexplicable reason) she did want to tell them her story. Maybe finally having the chance to tell someone - someone who would actually _care – _had made it impossible not to let it all out. She had kept it bottled up inside her for too long and now all her secrets were breaking free.

Did she regret it? She wasn't sure. She knew that the less he knew, the safer it would be for both of them. But there was no denying the fact that it felt so good to feel as if someone was there to listen for once in her life. As if she had been carrying a great weight on her shoulders that had suddenly been lifted.

For twenty five years she had held back the tears. And now she let them come.

Because it felt so good to just let go.

It was perhaps two or three minutes later that she drew in a deep breath, raised her head from her hands, gathered up her thoughts and continued the story. She wished it could have ended there, for that one tragedy would have been terrible enough on its own. But there was still more to come.

'Mercer returned to the Guild before I did,' she continued, dimly aware of how strangled her voice sounded. 'He had his revenge on Gallus; he wanted vengeance on me, too. And so he lied to them. He told them that I was the traitor. He said that I was the one who had murdered Gallus. He took over their leadership. And he ordered each and every one of them that if they saw me, they were to kill me immediately. And so I was banished from the Guild on pain of death. For twenty five years, people who I once thought of as my friends and brothers and sisters have been hunting me down. If they ever find me, they will kill me. And I have no way to tell them the truth of what happened. In a single night, I lost my lover, my home, my family and every one of my friends. Everything that ever mattered to me in my life was gone. Even Nocturnal turned away from me.'

Instantly she regretted having said the final sentence, because the look on Erandur's face changed from sorrow and sympathy to confusion and suspicion. 'Nocturnal?' he repeated, a sudden sharpness in his voice. 'What did she have to do with it?'

Karliah was silent for a few seconds. When she had taken the Nightingale Oath, she had sworn on her soul never to divulge the secrets of the Trinity to any outsider. To do so was to betray the Nightingales, betray herself, and betray Nocturnal. But then she thought of the cold, callous voice that still haunted her nightmares, thought of the way the Daedric Prince she had loved and honoured and obeyed without question had cast her out. She had been stripped of her position as a Nightingale, and as such, she was no longer bound by her Oath. To Oblivion with Nocturnal. Karliah no longer cared what the Lady of Shadows thought of her.

'We were sworn to her,' she explained quietly. 'Myself, Gallus and Mercer. We were bound to Nocturnal's service.'

Erandur's scarlet eyes widened. 'You mean… you were the Nightingales?'

She looked at the priest sharply. 'How do you know of the Trinity?' she demanded, her brow furrowing.

The other Dunmer looked uneasy, not speaking for a few tense moments. 'I know far more than I should about the workings of the Daedra,' he said finally. 'But go on, my daughter.'

Karliah gazed searchingly at him for a few more seconds, wondering what he meant. _What can he mean, he knows more than he should? What does a priest of the Divine of Love know about the Daedra? How can he possibly know of the Nightingales? _

She decided to continue without asking him more. She had come this far. Going a little further could not harm anyone. She did decide, though, not to mention the Skeleton Key. Even if Nocturnal had banished her, she was still loyal to the Trinity deep down - if only because she knew that Gallus would never have wanted her to sever all her ties to Nocturnal.

'After Gallus died, Nocturnal blamed me for what happened,' she said heavily. Of course, _what happened _was the theft of the Skeleton Key, but Erandur did not need to know that. 'She said that I should have known about it and done something to protect it. I had broken the Oath I had sworn the day I became a Nightingale and as such I was nothing in Nocturnal's eyes. She took away my powers and my position and told me to leave, never to return. And why? Because when I took my Oath, I promised that my first loyalty would always be to Nocturnal. I allowed it to become to Gallus instead. And so I was banished. I lost Gallus, the Guild, and even my calling as a Nightingale. I think maybe I lost part of myself.'

She turned her gaze outside. The sky was black. It was still raining.

'And I've been running ever since. I've been running because that's all I've got left to do. I can't return to the Guild. I have no way to prove my innocence. Even Nocturnal, who I served with all my soul, has cast me out. And the worst of it is that Gallus died a Nightingale, whereas I will die as an ordinary mortal. One day, he will pass to Evergloam, to the realm for Nocturnal's honoured dead. I never will. Even in death, I will never see him again. Never.'

Erandur was quiet for a long, long time then. Karliah glanced at him, waiting for him to say something. The rain pattered on, drumming insistently on the walls of the tent.

'Karliah,' the priest said finally, 'I think I should tell you a story about someone I knew once, long ago.'

She frowned, confused, but before she could say anything he cut across her. 'His name was Casimir. He was a Dunmer, like us both, and like you, he once served the Daedra. Not Nocturnal, though. Casimir was a devout follower of the Daedric Prince Vaermina.'

Vaermina. Karliah knew little of the Daedra, aside from Nocturnal and Azura. Vaermina was not a Prince she had great knowledge on. She was the mistress of dreams and nightmares, and unlike Nocturnal, who was cold, mysterious and often manipulative but not truly evil, Vaermina was considered to be one of the darkest of the Princes. She stole dreams and whispered cruel nightmares into the ears of mortals as they slept. She was the bringer of evil omens and the creator of mental torment. Karliah did not want to think about what kind of people might follow so terrible and heartless a mistress. At least Nocturnal, who helped to keep light and shadow in balance, and who delivered luck to those who she deemed worthy of it, did something for the good of Nirn.

'Casimir was recruited into the cult of Vaermina when he was still a very young elf,' Erandur continued, breaking through her thoughts. 'He was expressly forbidden to have any kind of contact with outsiders. His family were the other Vaermina devotees; he had no one else. Indeed, he was not allowed to have anyone else, and as such, he had no childhood to speak of. He grew up in the cult, and their ways were all he knew for many, many years. Indeed, he spent most of his life there – and as you know, that's quite a statement, for a Dunmer.'

Karliah nodded. He was right. The Dark Elves lived long lives, and aged slowly. She had often thought about it when she and Gallus had been together. Neither of them had ever cared that she was an elf while he had been a human. It had never made any difference to them. But on many occasions, when he had held her in his arms and caressed her face in his gentle hands, she had felt sorrow within her as well as joy, because she knew that the time would come when all of this would end, when she would have to watch him grow old and die, whereas he would watch her live and seemingly never age a day. And she had not thought she would be able to bear it.

Of course, it had never come to that.

'Because Casimir had been in the Cult of Vaermina since his early childhood, his loyalty to them ran deep.' Erandur clasped his hands together. 'Of course, at times he doubted whether the things he did in the name of Vaermina were right… but he never let those doubts remain for long. After all, what did it matter if he tortured or killed a few innocent people, as long as the will of Vaermina – who was, after all, a thousand times more powerful and important than the people he was hurting – was done as she expected it to be? And so he lived his life and did his duty, and so it went on for many years. But everything changed one fateful day. A day that would change his life forever.'

Erandur let out a long sigh. 'Vaermina's influence is strong. She can leave nightmares in almost any mind. And for some reason, the time came when she chose to torment a tribe of Orcs with evil dreams. Frightened and angry, the Orcs attacked Nightcaller Temple – the home of the cult of Vaermina. They outnumbered the cultists, and their rage made them strong. Though the devotees of Vaermina fought with all their strength, they knew it would not be enough. The Orcs were too strong and there were far too many of them. They battled on for as long as they could, before deciding to take a great risk in order to preserve their order and keep the Skull of Corruption – a staff which contains much of Vaermina's power - safe from the invaders. They decided that their only option was to send Brother Casimir to release the Miasma.'

'The Miasma?'

'A kind of sleeping gas,' Erandur explained. 'That is the simplest way to explain it, but the reality is far more complicated. Any mortal exposed to it will inevitably fall into a deep and dreamless sleep. They will not age, and they will not awake until the Miasma is dissipated. If they are exposed to it for too long, their minds can become damaged. It has been known for some people to lose their wits entirely.'

Karliah could not stop herself from shuddering.

'Casimir did what he was bidden, fighting his way through the temple to find the place where he could release the Miasma. He gathered his courage and pulled the chain that would activate it. And then, as he watched the gas began to seep through the temple, his nerve failed him. He was not ready to sleep, to succumb to the Miasma's effects. What if he was not awakened for centuries and he lost his mind? Terrified, he fled the temple, though his fellow cultists tried to stop him. He managed to escape Nightcaller temple, leaving his friends behind to sleep… and perhaps also to die.'

Neither of them spoke. The wind whistled over the mountain peaks.

'Horrified at what he had done, afraid, lost, helpless and alone, Casimir wandered the wilderness of Skyrim, ashamed beyond measure for his crimes. He ran from his past, trying to run so fast and far he might be able to leave the memories behind him. But he knew that he never could; that he never would. All was lost. Or so he thought. You see, one day he encountered a priest of the Lady Mara, who took pity on him. The priest listened to his story and cared for him, despite the differences between them. For the first time in years, Casimir felt safe, accepted, and appreciated. When he asked the priest why he had helped him, he received an answer he would never forget. 'Because I am a servant of Mara, and as such it is my duty to love and to care for others, no matter who they are.''

Karliah's indigo eyes had grown wide. Her mind was beginning to piece together the information, and it was beginning to dawn on her why he was telling her this tale.

'And when he heard that, Casimir made a decision. All his life, he had known nothing but the harsh and brutal ways of Vaermina. Such unconditional love staggered him – amazed him, even. He was in awe of the priest of Mara, who could take pity on a sinner like himself and help him, despite all the crimes that he had done. And he realised that he wished that he could think in that same way. And so he chose to become a priest of Mara himself. It was harder than he would ever have imagined to turn from Vaermina's cruel ways to Mara's loving ones, but eventually, he made it, for his fellow priests helped him kindly and patiently every step of the way. And the moment when he found Mara at last… it was the greatest of his life. In all the time he lived, he would never forget the warmth that spread through his heart when they embraced. And he decided that as he had a new life now, so he would also give himself a new name. Brother Casimir was long since dead and gone. He chose a new name for himself – and that name was Erandur.'

She had been beginning to suspect it, and his revelation came as no surprise to Karliah. 'So this is your story.'

He dipped his head. 'Indeed, my daughter. You told me the tale of your past, and so I have told you mine.' He gazed fearlessly into her eyes. 'And now it is up to you what you make of it.'

Karliah's frown deepened still further. 'Meaning?'

The corner of Erandur's mouth twitched in a smile. 'Sister, I know that I cannot even come close to understanding your pain. But I do know what it is like to be a runaway from one's past.'

Karliah said nothing.

'I know you feel that there is no going back, that there is no reclaiming all that you have lost. I know, because I once felt the same way. And I tell you now, my friend, that is not true. Mara taught me what a wonderful gift love is. I know that I have no right to tell you how to live your life. But my heart weeps at the thought that you might live and die without fighting for what you once held dear – what I am sure you still do hold dear.'

Still Karliah did not reply. But this time it was because she could not find any words. The full meaning of everything that she had done – or rather, everything that she had _not _done – was beginning to come crashing down upon her. She could feel her heart pounding against her chest as she realised. Erandur was right. She should be fighting to avenge Gallus's death and to prove the truth to the Guild. But she was not. Her grief for Gallus had destroyed her. How had she gone twenty five years without even trying to put things right? How had she lost touch with the rest of the world, and with herself, so completely?

'I myself recently took a decision to face up to my past.' Karliah had to struggle to force herself back into reality so that she could listen to Erandur's words. 'It was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I am on my way back to Nightcaller temple right now. The people of Dawnstar are being plagued by nightmares, and I suspect I am the only one with the knowledge to save them. I may well have to confront and maybe even kill people I once thought of as my friends. But it is the right thing to do, and so, much as it pains me, I will do it.' His eyes were filled with kindness. 'I've been running a long time, sister, just as you have. But I think that a time comes when every runaway must turn around and return home.'

Karliah drew in a long, shuddering breath. She knew why she had let this happen. Her heart had been shattered into pieces by Gallus's death and the lack of all that had mattered to her. But she had run too far. She had run away from her own identity. How had it taken so much to make her realise that?

And then a spark of understanding ignited in her mind. It did not matter how it had happened. All that was important now was that she did everything that lay within her power to put it right.

She thought of the memories she had been running from. She thought of the thrill that took over her every time she carried out a burglary or break-in. She thought of the pride that had run through her the day she was accepted as a Nightingale. She thought of the hundreds of happy days she had spent with her Guild. She thought of the even happier nights she had spent in Gallus's embrace.

And she knew in her heart that she could not allow all of that to slip away.

For those were things worth fighting for.

For a few moments she was uncertain of what to say. And then, almost unconsciously, the words slipped from her mouth.

'Then I shall run no longer.'

And she did something she had not done in twenty five long, hard years. She smiled. And Erandur smiled back.

And that was when they heard it. The silence.

It had stopped raining.

* * *

The wind had died, the storm had washed away the lingering snow, and the land seemed somehow fresher and cleaner. The blackness of the night was gradually fading into blue. It would not be long before dawn.

Erandur stood beneath the gently stirring branches of the trees that lined the edges of the pathway, watching as Karliah gathered her equipment. There was very little of it – like Erandur, it seemed she carried nothing but the essentials. He looked on as she swung a small backpack and a quiver of her black-feathered arrows over her shoulder, slid her dagger into the sheath at her belt and finally picked up her bow, weighing it thoughtfully in her hands for a moment before fastening it in place on her back. She moved with the air of someone who had repeated the actions she was performing many, many times before.

At last, she gave a small nod and turned to Erandur. She gazed evenly at him for a few moments before bowing her head. 'I am in your debt, Erandur.'

The priest found himself feeling glad that his slate-grey skin hid his blush. 'Don't mention it, my daughter. I merely did my duty. I am far more in yours for saving me from that dragon.'

She waved her hand dismissively. 'I didn't mean the fact that you attended to my injuries, although of course I am grateful to you for that.' Her face grew serious. 'You opened my eyes, my kinsman. You made me realise things I've been doing my best to ignore for the last quarter century. You gave me back my life.'

Erandur smiled warmly at her. 'You would have made the decision to return yourself someday. I merely gave you a little push in the right direction.'

She laughed, and from the spark of surprise that kindled in her eyes, Erandur was given the impression that amusement was an emotion she had not felt for a long, long time. 'And I am in your debt for that.'

There was a brief pause. A hush fell over the two Dunmer, broken only by the sound of a wolf howling somewhere in the distance.

'I hope that you are successful in your mission to save Dawnstar,' Karliah said finally.

'And I hope your own quest proves equally fruitful,' Erandur replied. He gazed at her inquisitively for a few moments, then a thought struck him suddenly. 'Karliah, do you believe you were wrong to fall in love with Gallus?'

She looked as if she had been struck with a warhammer. Her eyes widened and a tormented expression crept over her face. For a few seconds, her mouth opened and closed helplessly.

'I don't know,' she whispered at last. 'If there had never been anything between us, Mercer would never have turned traitor, Gallus would never have died, Nocturnal would never have cast me out, and none of this would ever have happened. But I can't forget how happy I was when we were together. Like nothing could ever go wrong. As a Nightingale, I should say yes. But as myself, I want to say no.'

Erandur stepped forwards and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

'It was not wrong, child,' he told her quietly. 'Mara knows when mortals belong together. You and Gallus were chosen for each other. Through the many years I have been alive, I have learned that there is no force on Nirn more powerful than love. My Lady would never have brought the two of you together if she did not intend for you to be reunited again after you were torn apart.'

She did not speak, but she stared at him with hope filling those incredible indigo eyes, and he could see how badly she wanted to believe that it was true.

'There is no need for you to fear, my friend. I know that you will put things right. You will avenge Gallus's death, and one day you will see him again.'

Karliah closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. As she let it out, she lifted her gaze to the skies, where the last few stars were dimming and dying away.

'I know what I have to do,' she said softly. She glanced back down at Erandur, and crimson and indigo met. 'Farewell, Erandur. Eyes open. Walk with the shadows.'

This, Erandur knew, was the blessing of the Nightingales, one that they would only ever give to one they thought of as a true friend. His heart swelled within him. 'And may Mara walk with you,' he replied.

In the quiet that followed, Karliah nodded slowly, gave him a final smile, and noiselessly turned away. He watched as her slender figure slowly grew smaller as she walked on down the path, her steps as silent as any true thief's. Erandur let out a wistful breath, and prepared to turn away.

And then he heard her voice, rising over the dark treetops, lifted in song.

_'All through this kingdom fierce and old_

_Through forests deep and mountains cold_

_While others sleep, my Oath I keep_

_For I walk in shadow.'_

Erandur would never have believed that someone who spoke in such a weary and bitter way could sing so beautifully. He stared in amazement after her shrinking figure, listening as the words rose upwards into the sky.

_'Though lesser mortals crave the light_

_And fear the coming of the night_

_The shadows hide me, fortune guides me,_

_I walk in shadow._

_Though all around me ruin lies_

_And stars, they fall down from the skies_

_The mountains tall, they break and fall_

_Still I walk in shadow.'_

And Erandur smiled sadly, because he knew that it was true. Her life did lie in ruins. And still she journeyed on.

_'I walk among the sacred three_

_Who guard the Guild, defend the Key_

_In life, in death, if I draw breath_

_Then I walk in shadow._

_And if in darkness deep and long_

_You hear a Nightingale's song_

_A battle cry, then know it's I_

_For I walk in shadow.'_

The last notes of the haunting tune faded steadily away. Erandur sighed deeply, and looked upwards to the steadily brightening sky.

'Lady Mara, hear my prayer,' he murmured. 'I pray not for myself, but for another. A kinswoman and a sister, who needs your guidance now more than ever. You bound her in love to another mortal, and yet she was forced to go through the pain of having him torn away from her. For years her grief has destroyed her hope. I have done all that I could to help her, but I can be of no further use to her now. Karliah needs your help, my Lady. She has done no wrong. She has done nothing to deserve the torment she has been through. I pray that you might stay with her and guide her footsteps, and one day lead her back to the one who waits of her. I pray for her. I pray for him. I pray for them both.'

He placed a fist over his heart and bowed his head. And when he raised it again, Karliah had vanished into the shadows, and the only proof that she had ever been there at all was the limp, twisted corpse of the dragon Nirvenraan lying stretched out across the road, his face twisted into a final scream of fury and terror, three ebony-black arrows embedded in his head.

Erandur, once Casimir, devotee of Vaermina, and now a sworn and devoted priest of Mara, stood gazing at the place where his fellow Dunmer, Karliah, sister of the Thieves Guild and former Nightingale of Nocturnal, had disappeared. Hidden in the branches of the pine beneath which he stood, the white owl closed its eyes and rested its head on its back, ready to sleep until the moons rose again. Far, far away, over the distant peaks, a dragon let out its bellowing roar. An eagle, its wings spread against the now-bright blue of the heavens, let out a piercing, echoing cry that reverberated through the forests, before rising higher on the wind and soaring away into the shining sky.

Golden light streaked the land of Skyrim, as the sun rose above the mountains.

~ THE END ~


End file.
